The adulteress (29 page)

"Dear Uncle Carl. I came when I heard you weren't well. You're better now. . . . Able to see me . . . able to tell me you know I'm here."

He pressed my hand and nodded.

"Good . . ." he said, "good people . . ."

"Yes," I said. "You are well looked after."

"Good doctor . . . friend . . ."

His hands fluttered. He groaned. "Don't go. . . . Good Ralph . . . Mustn't . . ."

I presumed Ralph to be Dr. Cabel. It seemed that he had had some inkling that I had suggested another doctor be called.

I said: "No, no . . . everyone you want will be here. . . . It's all right."

I felt a great desire to soothe him for he had lifted his head slightly and it was swaying from side to side.

"Rest," I said.

Dr. Cabel was beside me.

"Now, old fellow," he said. "I'm here. Your old friend Ralph is with you all the time. I'm not going to leave you. All's well. There! You trust me, don't you?"

He nodded to me. And I got up.

"Take his hand," he whispered.

I took it and kissed it.

"Good night, dear uncle," I said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He was lying back with his eyes closed.

I went to my room but before I had mounted the stairs to the next floor I heard the doctor and Jessie come out of the room.

Dr. Cabel was saying angrily: "What did you say to him? Did you tell him I was going? You should have had more sense."

Jessie spoke almost tearfully. "I just said that we might call in another doctor ... as well . . . two heads are better than one. ... I didn't think he understood."

"You know very well he takes in a lot. I would pack my bag tomorrow ... if I thought I could safely leave him."

"Oh, Dr. Cabel . . . please . . . please . . . don't. I was just talking it over with Mistress Ransome. It just seemed like an idea."

"The great idea is to keep his mind at rest. I understand him. I've known him for years. I thought he was going to be so good tonight. I did want Mistress Ransome to be able to talk to him a little. For heaven's sake, Mistress Stirling, be careful what you say in his presence."

"I will ... oh, I will."

I went into my room and shut the door.

I felt guilty but my uneasiness outweighed my guilt.

Next morning I walked into the town and called on Rosen, Stead and Rosen. I was immediately shown into the office of Mr. Rosen senior. He greeted me with as much warmth as I was sure he was capable of showing and begged me be seated.

"It is very pleasant to see you here again, Mistress Ransome," he said. "Tell me, how is Lord Eversleigh?"

"I see very little of him. He is very ill, you know."

"I do know that, but there is a doctor in residence, which is very comforting."

"Yes, he was an old friend of Lord Eversleigh . . . now retired and so it is possible for him to give up all his time to look after my uncle."

"Splendid! Of course, I doubt very much whether this state of affairs will last. A man in Lord Eversleigh's condition . . . Ah well, he is not a young man."

"I wondered about one or two things. Have you visited Eversleigh?"

"My nephew went some time ago . . . soon after Lord Eversleigh had his seizure. He saw the doctor. Lord Eversleigh was scarcely in a state to see anyone, and it was agreed that we go on as we had been doing for some time. Lord Eversleigh had given us power of attorney, so the bills came to us and we pay the salaries of the staff ... as we had been doing for some time."

"I see. I did wonder about certain things."

"For the time being everything seems to be in order."

"You are satisfied with the way in which the house is being run? I mean . . . expenses are not excessive."

"Indeed no. The . . . er . . . housekeeper seems to be a woman of good sense who manages the household quite skillfully. The doctor takes no remuneration at all. I gather he is a man of means. He told my nephew that he had known Lord Eversleigh for many years."

"Yes, that is so. I just wanted to make sure that you were satisfied that there was nothing . . . unusual about what was happening."

"It is not an ideal situation, but I think in the circumstances the arrangements couldn't be improved on. The accounts are more or less what they have always been. I have no reason to believe that the housekeeper is not running the house in just the same manner as when Lord Eversleigh was . . . er . . . compos mentis, in a manner of speaking." 1 see.

"I am relieved that you have come to see Lord Eversleigh. There is no secret of the fact that you are his heiress and I am delighted to have your assurance that you are satisfied with the manner in which the affairs of Eversleigh are being conducted."

"It is a little bewildering. I have not been able to exchange a word with Lord Eversleigh."

"The seizure, I gather, has taken the form of paralysis and partially robbed him of speech. That's not uncommon."

"I wanted to assure myself that you were satisfied with the manner in which Lord Eversleigh's affairs were conducted at the Court."

"I should be more satisfied if some member of the family were in control. But this doctor inspired great confidence in my nephew and we feel that as long as he is there he will see that everything is in order. The . . . er . . . housekeeper does seem to be a woman of good sense and she appears to honor her obligations. If you could reside at the Court until everything resolves itself that would be ideal, but I understand you have your other family commitments which make that impossible."

I agreed that this was so and we talked awhile and then I rose to go.

He took my hand and held it firmly.

"Rest assured, my dear lady, that should anything happen you will be notified without delay."

I thanked him and left feeling considerably relieved.

I was rather late for the midday meal. Jessie sat with us as she sometimes did and there was the doctor, Dickon and myself.

I explained that I had walked a little farther than I had meant to and didn't realize it until I began to make my return journey.

"It's such a lovely day," I finished lamely.

"Roast pork should be eaten hot," said Jessie, a little severely, I thought. She was so devoted to food that she considered a lack of enthusiasm to get to it a kind of lese majesty.

Dickon was in a talkative mood. He was very affable to everyone and seemed almost in a state of excitement. I wondered whether this had anything to do with his reunion with Evalina, or perhaps he had found a new light o' love. In any case he seemed to be suppressing excitement.

His eyes sparkled. He was incredibly good-looking—handsome with that hyacinthine type of fair hair which curled about his head and those startling blue eyes which were alert and filled with lurking laughter. A mixture of the handsome dignity of Apollo and the mischief of Pan.

I asked how Lord Eversleigh was and the doctor replied that he had had a little setback last night.

"I am so sorry, Mistress Ransome. It was just at the time when I thought he was really showing some improvement."

He looked rather angrily at Jessie, who lowered her eyes

and gave even more attention to the food on her plate than usual.

"Well," went on the doctor, "we have these upsets. They pass. He seemed more at rest during the morning."

Dickon said: "I had a wonderful morning. I rode quite a way ... to country I hadn't seen before. I found the most wonderful old inn. Forgotten the name of it. It was very traditional . . . just what an old inn should be. I took a snack there."

"What did they give you?" asked Jessie, always interested in food.

"Ripe stilton with hot bread—rye, I think it was, . . . dark and crusty."

"You want plenty of butter on it," said Jessie. "Let it sink in and then a good hunk of cheese on top."

She was tasting it, I knew, in spite of the pork on her plate.

"That's how it was—with the inn's special brand of cider. Delicious."

"And you came straight back here to your good dinner. I haven't noticed any lack of appetite, Master Frenshaw!"

"You know how you admire my strength at the table. You and I are a pair, Mistress Jessie."

"Go on with you! I never could abide people who pick at their food."

"It was a typical gathering. The old blacksmith came into the inn parlor. There were several of us there. He was a gloomy man. He'd evidently got a reputation for it. The others teased him a bit. 'We have a wager every year on Blacksmith Harry,' they told me. Tf anyone can get him to smile between Christmas Day and Twelfth Night we give 'un a shilling . . . and that's six of us. You can reckin we work hard to make blacksmith smile. No one's had any luck yet.' He was obviously a favorite of them all and I discovered why. He'd got a real gift for telling a story."

"Did he tell you some?" I asked.

"One," said Dickon.

"Was it interesting?"

"It was the way he told it. Now that's the test of a storyteller. If an old tale which must have been heard many times suddenly holds your attention then that's the mark of a good story-teller. Blacksmith Harry had us all ears, I can tell you."

"Tell us the story as well as he did."

"Oh, I'd spoil it. I'm a man of action. I'm no story-teller."

I said: "It's most extraordinary, Dickon, to hear you admit you can't do something."

"You are really whetting our appetites," added Dr. Ca-bel.

"Well, I'll have a try. But you really need the blacksmith. There was a man in the village whose daughter kept house for him. He was an old miser and an objectionable character in many ways and gave the daughter a bad time. He'd sent off the man who wanted to marry her so that she could go on keeping house for him. He'd already worried his poor wife into the grave."

"In fact," I said, "a most undesirable character."

"Exactly," said Dickon. "Well, one day the man wasn't there anymore. He had gone off, said his daughter, to see his brother up in Scotland. The daughter changed the house . . . made it merry . . . put up fresh curtains. Her lover came back. There was nothing to stop them getting married now. They could do it while the man was away and when he got back it would be too late to stop it. So preparations were made for a wedding feast . . . and everyone said what a good thing it was that the old man had gone to visit his brother in Scotland.

"It was all very happy and showed what misery some people could make for others . . . for the daughter was very pleased with herself these days. Then all changed . . . and in a way you might not believe."

"The old man came back," I said.

"Yes ... in a way."

"Oh, come on, Dickon," I cried. "No need to hold back the suspense."

"He came back . . . but not in human form."

"A ghost," cried Jessie turning pale.

Dickon lowered his voice: "The old man was seen hovering near the well. Several people thought they saw a man there. But he disappeared before they could make sure. Nobody believed them at first . . . but then the daughter saw him. She let out a shriek and fainted dead away (the blacksmith's words). She was in a fine state. They couldn't calm her. Well, to cut a long story short, since I haven't the blacksmith's gift, it seemed that the old man had not gone to Scotland at all. He had fallen down the well, with a little help from his daughter.

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She told the whole story. He'd slipped when drawing water. That was her story. He'd called out and she did nothing about it. She just left him there screaming."

Jessie had turned pale and was clasping the cross about her neck.

"Well," said Dickon, "they found his body in the well. They reckoned his daughter had had great provocation and it was never proved that she'd actually pushed him down. She just hadn't done anything to save him. They gave him a decent burial and he never appeared at the well again. That was all he was asking for ... a proper grave. The blacksmith reckoned he knew he'd made his daughter's life a hell. He didn't want revenge on her, all he wanted was a decent burial. So the body was put in a coffin and the burial service was said over it. And from that day to this his ghost has never again been seen." Dickon leaned back in his seat. "You ought to have heard the blacksmith tell it."

Jessie was staring down at the uneaten food on her plate.

Two days passed uneventfully. I paid only one visit to Uncle Carl. Dr. Cabel said he was not well enough on the first of those days; the second I saw him and he held my hand and said a few words.

"Improving," said Dr. Cabel, his eyes shining. "I can't tell you how happy I am when he shows a little glimpse of his old self."

I walked over to Enderby and was disappointed when I heard that Derek and Isabel had gone to London for a few days.

It was on the second day when I came upon Jessie sitting in the winter parlor with the cook, Daisy Button, a plump woman, waistless so that she looked rather like a barrel, good-natured, easily offended, dedicated to her cooking, determined to protect her dignity. I knew that Jessie had had a few tussles with her but there was a certain friendship between them and whatever airs, the cook complained, Jessie gave herself, anyone who was so appreciative of Daisy Button's culinary masterpieces could be forgiven.

Daisy Button, I had heard, could tell whether a girl was pregnant almost before the girl knew it herself; she had even been known to prophesy correctly the sex of the child; her grandmother had been a witch and she had powers.

When I approached, Daisy Button got up and bobbed a

rather reluctant curtsy and said she was discussing the day's supper with Mistress Stirling, and she hoped she was giving satisfaction. A large part of her beautiful tansy pudding had been sent back to the kitchen from the dinner table.

I said the tansy pudding was absolutely delicious and if those at table had not eaten of it as voraciously as it deserved it was because they had gorged themselves on the very excellent roast beef which had preceded it.

I saw the cards in Daisy Button's apron pocket and guessed she had been giving Jessie what she would call "a reading."

I said: "I see you have the cards. Have you been telling fortunes?"